Oy with the Bunnies Already!
by WonderStarLord
Summary: Pointless drabbles. Hopping prompts. Abandoned strays. All manner of unfinished AUs featuring our adorable Gilmore Girls. Feel free the pilfer from this sandbox. (Mostly HP crossovers with some extras.)
1. A Sedate and Most Civilised Dinner Party

**A Sedate and Most Civilised Dinner Party**

Harry Potter _Marauders' Era + our illustrious Gilmore family._

Disclaimer: Amy Sherman-Palladino, a wondrous woman. J.K. Rowling, our queen.

Inspired by chapter four of Polaris Aries Black's _The Black Secret_ and chapter two of _Hero_ by aterriblebeautyisborn – both of which you should totally read, BTW.

Notes: Yet another story I started and couldn't finish because a new idea, maybe even a better idea popped into my head (I swear I have zero follow through …). Anyone who wants to take this excerpt and make it their own is welcome to.

* * *

What was supposed to be another stilted, stuffy dinner party had been held inside a splendid white-stuccoed house in a quiet corner of Kensington. While its outward appearance was utterly unmagical, right in uniform with the rest of the street, the sweeping interiors could not have been more to the contrary. Despite ninety-degree angles on each outside corner, every room inside was circular. Some people might have said that the straight, sloping rooves made very little sense since all the ceilings were magnificently domed. The people who would've thought that would never get the chance to make such an observation. People such as those were simply not welcome at number seven, Constabulary Court.

The guest list had started off small. A few Batonvert nieces, who were currently visiting from the Continent. Perhaps the Greengrass cousins could Floo in from Norfolk. And a Rosier relation or two would show interest, for sure.

Emily Gilmore was always cautious when extending invitations to her relatives. She was well within her right to. Certain social circles moved in packs, sticking like the most viscous of adhesives. If she invited _this_ family, then she also had to invite _that_ one – and so on and so forth. She had planned an intimate evening filled with twenty-one courses and polite conversation. She hadn't quite prepared for the pandemonium that accompanied the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

 _"Calvorio!"_

Verbal spellcasting at the dinner table? _Honestly._

Why her sister had chosen to marry into _that_ particular family was beyond Emily's ability to reason.

The Blacks weren't regular visitors at the Gilmore household. Strange, given their status. Not to mention, their proximity. Then again, as Emily had to duck a jet of violet light, she remembered exactly why this was the case. She could have winced at the sight of the newest scorch mark on her personally picked silk wall hangings.

"All right, Black, _now_ I understand why you are Acceptably competent. At duelling, at least."

"A heartfelt compliment from her haughty highness, herself?" asked Sirius teasingly. "I'm touched." He couldn't summon the effort to be embarrassed by his family. That carpet had long flown.

"Hey! I'm not the haughty one, you arrogant berk!" Lorelai wasn't normally allowed to raise her voice indoors. Or outdoors. Or anywhere, if she listened to her mother. Those weren't the actions of a proper young lady. Even though she would have done so anyway, she suspected that she could get away with it this time.

They had made it to the shellfish course when all hell broke loose.

"Completely inadequate, Jenkins is."

"I say we impeach the imbecile with that nice little curse Alphard picked up in Cairo last spring."

The men were discussing important comings and goings at the Ministry. That led to a discussion on the current Minister for Magic, which could only _logically_ lead to an intense debate about what had really happened at the pure-blood riots.

"My fault …"

"Yes."

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault."

"My fault!"

"Yes," Orion Black impatiently sighed. "Something large and poufy caught in your ear, dear cousin?" He carelessly brushed back his peppered dark hair as he listlessly drawled, "Or are your mental faculties declining prematurely?"

Cygnus raised a swift counterpoint. Emrys Rosier wound up sprouting an inappropriate appendage in an inappropriate place, caught in the crossfire, whereas Carlyle Greengrass had intelligently chosen not to intervene. Richard Gilmore – although used to more sedate affairs, like smoking pipes with Barty and tea with the Potters – had somehow found a way to fall asleep amidst the chaos unscathed. His copy of the _Evening Prophet_ lay on the long, ornate dining table. The harried face of another missing person blinked up at the endless midnight blue ceiling, the paper still opened to page nine.

"They would look just darling together," cooed Druella Black.

The women were talking about the children.

"I must say, I'm of the personal opinion that is cutting it a bit close –"

"Like _you_ of all people have an authority on the matter –"

Boasting about the accomplishments of their offspring didn't last long when there were potential marriages to talk about. Also, said 'accomplishments' of said offspring were not all material a mother broadcasted by choice in a public forum.

"– which is why, I reiterate," imperiously continued Walburga, her finely sculpted nose held high and blood-red lips smugly curved, "my eldest would be a much more suitable match than your nephew."

"Well, I do suppose they were both Sorted into that disgusting cesspool of Muggle-lovers and filth, so I can see why you believe they'd make a perfectly lovely pair."

Walburga Black became very still as her regal face unpleasantly pinched.

Emily had ceased lamenting the crack that was spreading on the bust of a grumbling, disgruntled Charles Gilmore to coldly bite out, "Choose your next words with extreme care, Ella."

It turned out that Emily's withering warning was unnecessary. Walburga had turned her sister-in-law into a pig in one quick yet lazy motion.

"This is brilliant!"

Sirius almost openly gaped at Lorelai, partly amused; partly appalled; and a smidgen admiring. "Brilliant? This is madness."

"Then madness must be brilliant."

His customary mask of affected boredom had nearly given way. " _You're_ mad."

"I'm jazzed."

"Mental! You are mental."

"And mad!" she said, lightly slapping the table in jest. "Wait – who's mad and mental? That'd be you, yeah? I mean, out of the two of us, _you're_ the Black."

He gave her an expression of such concentrated condescension that it would have made his father (uncharacteristically) proud (when involving him) and his mother disturbingly happy. "And yet, _you_ are."

"Hm … I'll have to think about it …"

"You done?"

"Just a second."

"Well?"

"A second more."

"You've already taken more than just a couple of seconds more."

"I agree."

"Merlin …"

"My brain is working exceptionally slow this evening. I suspect an Impediment Jinx." She determinedly stared down her obnoxious cousin, Evan, who sat at the opposite end of the table with Sirius's younger brother, Regulus.

"Of course you do."

"Or the quail. Did the quail taste funny to you? Then again, doesn't all quail taste at least a little funny?"

"This conversation is devolving faster than you in Flying, first year."

"Something I have chosen to take great pride in."

"No one _fails_ Flying."

Lorelai drew herself up proudly. "First student in a quarter millennia."

"I'm still in disbelief."

"Always knew I would. You have no idea how much not-practising it took to get me into that negative a skill set. Spent my entire childhood avoiding brooms – not even looking at brooms and everything. Or _nothing_ , rather than _everything_. Nothing at brooms – nothing around brooms – nothing to do with brooms –"

"How have you and McKinnon been friends all these years? More importantly, how on Earth have you been friends with _James_ all these years?"

"I think I deserve a trophy."

"I think you need to be tested."

"Already have been."

"Why am I not surprised?" he asked flatly.

"Winged horses!"

Sirius turned up the sarcasm, saying, "Impressive segue, Gilmore."

"Well, my parents had me checked at St Mungo's because of my all-encompassing hopelessness on a broomstick."

"The link between the two is still shaky."

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there."

"Go on, then. Go on."

"It made no sense because I am – and this is me being modest, here – the most talented aerial equestrian you will ever meet – unless you've met my grandma. You should see me on my Granian. Which, funnily enough, lives in the stables at Gran's country house."

"You and James. OK. I am back to being able to see it again."

"We only tell it because it's true."

A hand on his angular chin, he looked at her contemplatively. "You don't ruffle your hair, though."

"I always _have_ been more partial to the hair twirl," she dramatically heaved, giving a dazzling show of a preview.

Admittedly, the motion did make him dazed. A little dazed. Only a little and only for a moment. Not that he dared to allude to this. This atrocity, this travesty. Outwardly. Or inwardly.

The atrocious travesty never happened.

Sirius Black never swayed off balance. And certainly not over a bird. Bless the hopeless idiot, but that was James's territory.

"A twirl?" said Sirius coolly.

"Because I'm a girl," she sweetly smiled, batting her eyelashes in a mockingly coquettish fashion.

Nah, Sirius told himself. He was not affected by her in the least. "Right …"

"Right."

"Lorelai Gilmore always has to have the last word, doesn't she?"

"Why else do you think any and all conversations between James and I are the ones that never end?"

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but she had cut him off.

"Dirty! Pre-emptive dirty! You were going to say something dirty, weren't you?"

"Sodding Salazar, you're exhausting."

"Ah, yes, my ancient Gobbledegook name."

* * *

A/N: Please, take this and run with it. You know you want to. The world is in dire need of more Harry Potter/Gilmore Girls crossovers.

A/N2: Lorelai Gilmore and Sirius Black? A match made in heaven (or hell).

 _"Dark hair, romantic eyes, looks a little dangerous?"_

 _"… Tattoos are good, too."_

 _"Does he have a motorcycle? Because if you're going to throw your life away, he better have a motorcycle!"_

I mean, come on! I can't be the only madwoman thinking this!

Ladies and gentlemen, the Drama King and Queen of the Wizarding World. A couple with limitless potential.


	2. Agent 8

**Agent 8**

 _MCU. Tony Stark and Lorelai Gilmore are contemporaries._

Disclaimer: Cheers, Amy! Thanks, Disney and Marvel! (I feel like there should be a Stan Lee cameo in here somewhere.)

Notes: Super!Lorelais – super brains and super brawn.

Lorelai was born two years later, 1970, the same year as Tony.

This seems to be turning into a series of AU Christopher Hayden substitutions.

* * *

 **1983**

 **PHILLIPS ACADEMY ANDOVER | MASSACHUSETTS**

"I should be studying."

"Made totally obvious by the fact that you snuck into my room to see me."

"Maybe I snuck in to see Peter Cutler."

"You hate Peter Cutler."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

" _No_ , I _don't_."

" _Yes_ , you _do_."

"Why do you think I do?"

"Because you act like you do."

"Well, I don't."

"Whatever."

"I don't!"

"Right."

"I kinda like him, actually."

"What?"

"I actually like him. Kinda."

"But you act like you don't like him."

"Exactly."

Tony Stark rolled his large brown eyes. " _Girls_."

" _Boys_ ," sighed Lorelai Gilmore, long-suffering.

It was way past curfew, the night before midterms, so of course nobody was sleeping. A small, plastic television set sat on a stack of vinyl records, playing _The Greatest American Hero_. Its spindly metal antennas were arranged at funny angles and the volume had been turned indecipherably low. Instead, it were the sounds of AC/DC's new _Flick of the Switch_ album and a bickering pair of thirteen-year-olds that rang prominent in this particular dorm room.

"What – you never pulled a pigtail, back in your day?" asked Lorelai.

"Well, the only pigtails around were yours," said Tony while he fiddled with a Rubik's Cube, "and your head was so _huge_ , I figured you had suffered enough; I never felt compelled to pull yours."

"I can't believe Mom showed you those pictures."

"I can't believe that was _you_ in those pictures."

"I grew into it before I even met you!"

Sprawled on the floor, Lorelai searched for something disgusting to throw at him. Dirty sock: _score_. Using a pair of pencils as impromptu chopsticks, she had maturely thrown the grass-stained, sweat-soaked thing onto the bed above her.

" _Ew_!" Tony indignantly cried. "What the HELL, Lorelai?"

"I burnt them, you know."

"My socks? Because –" He paused. "Hmm." He tapped a contemplative finger on his chin. "I wouldn't actually mind that. You burning my socks." He tossed the offending item away. Far, far away from his terrible, tiny twin bed. God, he hated boarding school. Still, better than _home_. "Burn away. Jarvis'll just buy new ones."

Lorelai scrunched up her pert nose. "You disgusting rich person."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," said Tony indifferently, finished with the Rubik's Cube and tossing it away to join his lonely, dirty sock.

"Well, maybe it is."

"Well, _you're_ a disgusting rich person, too."

"Not like you."

It was true. Lorelai came from all manner of Mayflower-descended, blue-blooded, hoity-toity New England old money, but Tony was the son of _Howard Stark_ , self-made millionaire with more bank than a small nation would know what to do with.

Lorelai continued, "Everything you've ever gotten hasn't been held hostage by strings."

"Golden thread, you mean."

"Gold-titanium wire."

"That'd be some pretty sturdy stuff," remarked Tony, pushing himself off his bed.


	3. Another Scoop of Vanilla

**Another Scoop of Vanilla**

 _It's the year 2009. Rory has finished following the presidential campaign trail. Set during_ Smallville _season nine 'Crossfire'._

Pairings: Intended to be Oliver/Rory but I got too lazy to continue. Was going to make Oliver Queen Logan's cousin (remember, Mitchum Huntzberger: "Second of four children, oldest boy") and toyed with the title 'One Huntzberger Isn't Enough?'

Notes: It baffles me that nobody has written about Rory Gilmore working at the _Daily Planet_!

* * *

 _"… admitting that you grew up on a farm is either going to get you a date with a country mouse, or a cougar looking for her next meal,"_ Lois Lane said lowly through the earpiece.

"Hi, Clark?"

Clark Kent lifted his dark-haired head. It was a beautiful young woman in a smart blue coatdress. She was tall, about the same height as the shrill Jiminy Cricket nonsensically nattering to him this afternoon.

"Uh, I'm Rory," she timidly introduced herself.

Lois's voice flattened in his ear, _"Or not."_

"Hello, Rory," Clark beamed. He stood up and shook her hand.

Rory earnestly peered up at him, blinking with large eyes so strikingly blue that even Zod might have mistaken her for a eugenically modified Kryptonian. Her powder blue coat and shiny frame of dark brown hair only served to heighten their impossible colouring. "Hi."

"Ha-ha-have a seat," he stuttered, pulling out a chair for her.

"OK." Rory self-consciously glanced between him and the camera lens. "Ah, uh, I've seen these blind date shows on television before. My mom is a _huge_ fan of anything that you can mock – or will rot your brain – or, preferably, both. But I-I never actually thought I would go on one," she stuttered. The small smile she'd been wearing since she arrived had dropped. "This isn't live, is it?"

Clark shook his head, thoughtfully frowning. "They're taping it to air at some other time," he reassured her.

Lois remarked, _"If you can't take the heat, sister, get out of the café."_

Rory began to ramble, "It's just – I have a bad history with live television. Not that it could be counted as history. It was only this one time on C-SPAN when I was in high school. I went to Chilton, and there was this big bicentennial hoopla that was being televised…"

 _"Chilton, huh? As in Chilton Academy?"_ Lois sounded unimpressed.

"… but it was bad. Really, really bad."

 _"I've got five words for you, Smallville:_ New England trust fund brat _. Leave. Leave now, for your own good."_

"Sorry." Clark lightly chuckled as he put a hand to the side of his head. "I have this – uh – really annoying ringing in my ear."

"Oh, I understand. I'm nervous too. I can barely hear anything over my own heartbeat."

 _"Oh, please!"_

"Silly, right? Especially considering what I want to do for a career."

 _"I'm telling you, the future of this housewife-to-be has Stepford written all over_ _her_ _. Abort! Abort!"_

He ignored Lois. "Just try to treat this like any other date."

"That's the problem. I do believe I may have forgotten how to do this," confessed Rory. "I've been kind of busy since I graduated."

Clark leaned in, interested. "What school?"

"Yale."

"Yale, huh? Wow … that … that's Yale."

Rory carefully smoothed out some nonexistent creases on her blue coat. "To be honest, for almost all my life, Yale was supposed to be Harvard. There was a sweatshirt that I used to sleep on … never mind …" She shrugged and seemed to make herself smaller.

 _"Poor little rich girl not smart enough to get into Harvard?"_ Lois merrily chimed in. _"Pity."_

"I got in, but my mom and I base all our important decisions by making pro-con lists – no exceptions – and this was definitely one of them, so we did. We did, and in using our incredibly _rigorous_ , extremely _scientific_ process to decide between the Big Three," she joked, "we documented the length of Proust, and Yale won by about a billion Kropogs. Double the pros of the other two." Her expression revealed how proud she was of her accomplishment, yet, at the same time, perhaps a bit embarrassed about them as well.

In the editing room of the news studio, Lois heaved a melodramatic sigh. It was like this teeny, tiny, practically perfect-looking china doll ( _awesome_ , she internally grumbled, yet _another_ scoop of vanilla for everybody's favourite mild-mannered farm boy to choose over a healthy dollop of wild cherry) possessed Smallville's overdeveloped sense of humility or something.

"I almost went to Princeton," Clark put on the table.

Bashful discomfort forgotten, Rory's mouth quirked. She let out a small, nostalgic chuckle. " _Ahh_ , Princeton."

"Well, I almost had the opportunity to go to Princeton – but then there was a party – and – well – long story." _Yeah,_ Clark remembered. Before he realised how complicated accepting an athletic scholarship would be for him, bras and magic (though, not necessarily in that order) had ruined his chance to go Ivy.

Rory plastered on a placating grin. "I have more than a few of those, myself, which will probably assist us in breaking through any awkward silences that might come up. You see, I don't go on dates much anymore."

"Why is that?" asked Clark.

"Well, until recently, I was travelling …"

Lois felt the need to butt in again, _"Skiing in Switzerland? Modelling in Milan?_

 _"How about shamelessly hanging off a playboy billionaire's arm? Come to think of it, Smallville, your sweet little lunchable does look kinda familiar. And way out of your league. She's not a Wayne Girl, is she?"_

"… on the road across the country to cover the Barack Obama campaign."

"Wow, that's impressive."

"Oh, I don't know." Rory stared at the ground. "I mean, I was on the trail and everything – with the buses and planes – the whole huge shebang, very official, which was really cool – but it was just for an online magazine."

"Well, I'm still impressed."

"Thank you."

"So, what are you doing now?" wondered Clark.

"I applied to a few postgraduate schools, and I got accepted by the journalism program at Met U, but then I received a job offer at the _Daily Planet_ soon afterwards. I couldn't decide between school and work, because I love school – boy, do I love school. I'm unashamed, unabashed in my bounteous love for school. I would proclaim – yell from rooftops if I had to. That's the sort of love I have for school. An old – er – a – uh – friend of mine, they were right about that.

"The love I have for school; for learning; for the hustle and bustle of a good old educational institution, it's the kind of love that doesn't just go away, you know? But I've also grown to love my work, which I always figured I would, so I'm doing both."

 _"Is she for real? Congratulations, Clark. You're dating my cousin if she were a Bambi-eyed WASP in six-inch heels."_

* * *

A/N: This was written _long_ ago with pre-revival optimism for our favourite aspiring journalist.


	4. The Indignity of James Potter

**The Indignity of James Potter**

 _James Potter meets a curious first-year on a train._

Notes: Set in a different HP/GG universe to 'A Sedate and Most Civilised Dinner Party'. Here, she grew up surrounded by the Blacks and Rosiers, and is in the same year as Regulus Black. Although, again, Sirius and Lorelai share first cousins (Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa) but are not directly related themselves – these pure-bloods are an awfully incestuous lot, aren't they?

* * *

The compartment door slammed instead of tentatively sliding when it opened again. A pretty girl with shining brown hair and incredibly bright blue eyes shot inside. She shoved the door shut as loudly as she'd opened it. She then turned around, slumped against the door and flopped onto the floor. She did all this while, strangely, maintaining an air of indefinable dignity.

James Potter had jumped up on his seat in shock. Bewilderment and excitement were warring for top billing on his face. Sirius Black was unperturbed. Still lounging on the seats opposite James, he merely looked on, mildly amused. Interestingly, his ever-present haughtiness had abated. Somewhat.

"You look nice," remarked Sirius.

The girl sent him an expression of mixed annoyance and exasperation. "Emily," she said with a flat finality, though she thoughtfully added, "or the Muggles. How can they possibly stand wearing bilge like this? What in Merlin's pants is the point of a petticoat – or, for that matter, just what exactly _are_ petticoats? Because apparently I'm supposed to wear twelve of these flimsy robe-like things underneath this monstrosity!"

Draped in satin and lace and pearls, she wore the fluffiest white article of clothing either boy had ever seen. She looked like a disgruntled little princess.

"There was this ghastly bonnet I had to talk Mum out of." She shuddered. "Although, I've got to say, the ruffled knickers? Quite comfortable."

"I am so very glad I'm not a girl."

"What d'you reckon? Do I look more like a cloudy marshmallow or a marshmallowy cloud?"

Sirius pretended to be seriously ponder her question. "I don't think you can go wrong, either way."

"Yes …" She heavily sighed. "Well …"

She seemed to have only just noticed that there was another boy sharing the compartment. James felt a bit indignant. He wasn't used to being ignored, whether it be unintentional or not. Her face smoothed over, haughty but without the boredom, reminding him slightly of Sirius when they had introduced themselves.

"I've been ever so impolitely remiss. I may have to give back my pearls. What a shame!" she sarcastically cried. "Forgive me for forgetting to make with the pleasantries. It's been a rather eventful day."

She got to her feet, swift and easy. The graceful motion was surprising, considering that she had made her first impression by barging inside like a stampeding centaur.

"Hi." She daintily held out her hand. "I'm Lorelai."

"James."

Their hands had clasped when the compartment door opened again. A soft knock preceded the next grand entrance. An older girl in billowing black robes – of incomparably better quality than the rags that Snivelly had scuttled in wearing – strode in, light-footed and tall and striking. A gleaming badge engraved with the exalted 'HG' superimposed on the Hogwarts crest was neatly pinned to her chest. She saw Lorelai and indulgently shook her head, but not without a clear chastising note.

"I know you took them, Lor."

"Took what?" Lorelai's widening eyes made her look far too innocent for that to actually be the case.

"The badges. Lucius and Cissy's Prefect Badges. Can I please have them back?"

"Back? But they're not yours, now, are they? If I did have said badges, I'd need to return them to their original owners in order to give them back."

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Give them back."

"Give back what?"

"The badges."

"What badges?"

"The Prefect badges I know you took."

"You know I took them?"

"Yes."

"What do you think I took?"

The older girl appeared to recognise that this line of questioning would bear no fruit. She pulled out her wand and gave it a concise flick. A pair of silver and green objects flew out from somewhere within Lorelai's white dress and into her outstretched hand.

"You're no fun."

She made to leave. "Goodbye, Lor."

"Mad with power – that's what you are, Andy! Mad with power!"

"I'll see you at the feast, Lor," she called over her shoulder, lightly laughing.

"Everyone, look out, the Head Girl's gone mad with power! This lofty new position of yours has gone straight to your head! You –" Lorelai was suddenly distracted by the large pile of sweets by the window. "Oo! Cauldron cakes!"


	5. The Tart of Gryffindor Tower

**The Tart of Gryffindor Tower**

 _A Gilmore Christmas party, and Lorelai sees a different kind of red and green._

Notes: Sirius and Lorelai are a few years older, set in the same universe as 'The Indignity of James Potter'.

* * *

Sirius was lounging on a royal blue velvet sofa, arms spread out and head thrown back, staring at the domed glass ceiling that had been covered in sparkling silver frost instead of being draped with its customary blue silk hangings. Garlands of holly and ivy, which hosted hundreds of fluttering fairies, crossed underneath it.

He was counting holly berries when his triumphant retreat from the fine dress-robed witches and wizards milling about the Gilmores' wide, circular drawing room was disturbed.

A fast, frantic "Please, Sirius – please, please, please," came immediately after he felt a dip in the plush velvet cushioning.

Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. "How much have you had this evening?"

"None."

"Plus …"

"A bit."

"How much is a bit?"

"Less than a lot."

"You have a problem."

"No more than you."

"Debatable." Regardless, he withdrew a hip flask from the stiff pocket of his new emerald green dress robes. "Junkie." He blamed Andromeda, who used to sneak her little cousins Butterbeer when they were children and it was too much for their tiny bodies to handle.

"Flaskie!" exclaimed Lorelai, grabbing the thin silver flask engraved with a set of initials that never failed to make her laugh: _S.O.B._

Lorelai took a few gulps too many of Firewhisky too fast and burped smoke.

"All class, you are."

"Be nice, Sirius, or I'll drink you dry."

Sirius lackadaisically tilted his head to one side to face Lorelai, a challenging glint in his grey eyes. "You can try." She didn't know that he had successfully enchanted the flask with a Permanent Refilling Charm on the train home for the holidays.

Lorelai was no doubt about to make some witty retort when they heard her mother's enthusiastic hostess voice ring clearly over the homogeneous chatter and wood-nymph choir.

"You know, Regulus, Brandice is spending next semester at Castelobruxo. Isn't that fascinating?"

"Yes," said Regulus promptly as he was unsubtly pushed towards the pretty young witch in front of him by Emily Gilmore's guiding hand. "Fascinating."

"Herbology is my favourite subject," twittered Brandice in her dainty damsel voice that Sirius and Lorelai could barely hear.

"Yes it _is_ ," Sirius uttered, the corners of his lips curling mischievously. He happened to know from personal experience that Brandice Covendonner favoured the hidden area behind Greenhouse Seven in particular.

Lorelai appeared not to have heard Sirius, her focus on his younger brother instead. "As if he doesn't already know," she scoffed. "As if Mum doesn't know that he already knows."

Sirius lifted his eyebrow in amusement when Lorelai harshly swigged some more Firewhisky.

"Shouldn't _your_ mum be pushing prospective pure-blood brides on him instead of mine?" She turned to Sirius crossly. "Where is Walburga? Why isn't she giving _you_ the Emily treatment?"

"Oh, come on, Lorelai," he drawled mockingly. "You know why." The woman didn't need to. The young pure-blood witch of good breeding and marriageable age that Walburga Black had her dark, hollow heart set on for her eldest son was already breaking proper spacing protocol, within an inappropriate distance of him, vainly draining his flask.

"Oh, right. Because we _belong together_ ," said Lorelai flatly.

It was what their parents always said about the two of them. It was what a lot of people said about the two of them. It was annoying.

"'Everyone knows it!'" Sirius mimicked his mother. "'I know it, Orion knows it –'"

"'– Emily knows it, Richard knows it!'" she finished for him, unhappy.

"If only their noses weren't so high up in the air, they'd be able to see the truth."

Lorelai peered at Sirius curiously while leaning into him. "And what truth would that be?"

He pointedly looked back and forth between Lorelai and Regulus.

"Stop," she laughed.

He sat up from his lounging position and carried on with vigour.

"Sirius!" cried Lorelai. She was still laughing.

He was like a Crup chasing two Snidgets flying on the opposite ends of a field.

"Sirius, stop." Lorelai's laughter had died down. She had grabbed Sirius's face with her hands. They were warm and soft and smelt like she had been handling her fair share of apple tarts that evening – more than her fair share, knowing her.

"Regulus is my best friend," Lorelai said seriously.

Sirius jerked his head out of her grasp, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Yes." He was being needlessly dramatic, he knew, but he had lowered his voice, turning just as serious. "Your best friend who you flirt with, who you fancy, who you try to drive crazy –"

"I'm not _trying_ to do anything," said Lorelai hotly, her face pink.

"Hilliard, second year."

Her hooded blue eyes narrowed. "The boy you and your idiot friends tortured into avoiding me after he asked me to be his girlfriend?"

"You said yes," Sirius said simply.

"I never saw him again, thanks to you!"

He smiled with satisfaction. "You're welcome, Lorelai." He and James had pranked the presumptuous prat for weeks. They had earned a month of detention for their relentless, noble battle and Hilliard had been too scared to get within hexing-distance of Lorelai ever since.

"And Regulus didn't have anything to do with Brian Hilliard," she argued. "You, on the other hand, made sure I never had a chance to, either."

Sirius saw Lorelai scowl in his brother's direction again – specifically at her mother or Covendonner, who knew? Who really actually cared? He returned to his original argument. "Fitz Noble, Hugh Davies, Royston Selwyn –"

"What does _he_ have to do with anything?" The colouring on Lorelai's face was had deepened to a dangerous red. Any trace of humour had been completely wiped from her pixie-like face, and she was starting to bear an alarming resemblance to their cousin Bellatrix. Nobody talked about Royston Selwyn in front of Lorelai Gilmore.

But Sirius Black didn't consider himself a nobody.

"Peter Cutting," he continued, "Bertram Aubrey, Trevor Boot, Dirk Cresswell –"

"Now you're just listing Ravenclaws." Lorelai sounded offended.

"Fine then," Sirius smirked. "Tommy Stebbins, Baldur Atlas, Aldrich Diggory –" he started on the Hufflepuffs before she interrupted him again.

"OK, OK, I get it," conceded Lorelai reluctantly. "I'm the Tart of Gryffindor Tower." She crossed her arms. "What I _don't_ get is what this has to do with me and Regulus, and your mad theories about me and Regulus."

" _I'm_ mad, Lorelai."

"Never has there been a truer statement."

"My theories aren't."

"Never has there been a less sane statement."

"Lorelai."

"He's my best friend, Sirius. My _best_ friend."

"Never to be the _boy_ friend?"

"You're mad."

"I recall us already covering this."

"Yeah? Well, I recall me hexing you with a bad case of sores and boils all over your backside."

"Not in recent memory."

"Want to change that?" she threatened, dropping Sirius's hip flask and whipping out her wand.

"Now, Lorelai …"

"What do you think of my new nickname for you: _Crusty Bulge_?"

"Well, it's no Snuffy."

"I haven't called you that since I was six."


	6. We and Our

**We and Our**

 _They were_ not _meant to be, and it was time everybody else realised that._

Notes: Continued on from 'The Tart of Gryffindor Tower'.

* * *

"Remind me why I'm still taking twelve bloody classes," Lorelai Gilmore groaned into her furry, purple Stowe & Packers bookbag.

It had been over a month since Erica Catchlove stared uncomprehendingly at Lorelai's impossible fourth-year timetable. She had Ancient Runes _and_ Care of Magical Creatures during first period on Monday at the _same_ time. After a year of dodgy answers, Erica had given up asking how her best friend managed to attend several classes at once. This was simply another item to list under the Lorelai Paradox.

"You're a masochist," said Erica lightly, "that's why."

Lorelai pulled out her ostentatiously gilded copy of _Intermediate Transfiguration_ and dropped it on the table. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I love that there's a class where I'm essentially being graded on my ability to bullshit," she said, referring to the waste of time that was designated as Divination. "But _all_ of them?"

"Like I said. Masochist."

Lorelai impatiently removed the large golden pin bearing a family crest ( _not_ hers) that she used as a bookmark and continued to groan. "I hate being a Gilmore." Every Gilmore before her had graduated from Hogwarts with twelve N.E.W.T.s. She was supposed to take twelve classes. And so, here she was, following the plans, taking those twelve bloody classes.

"Better a Gilmore than a grim old Black," said the tall and arrogant fifth-year who had just carelessly thrown himself down on the wooden bench beside her. He fingered the golden pin that she had tossed aside and grimaced.

Speaking of plans nobody could just change, plans that were embroidered on ancient tapestries and carved into stone walls …

"Can't wait until I finally get to be Mr Gilmore," he joked dryly, fixing the golden pin onto her robes with a showman's flourish. "How about you, love? Anticipating the day you make an honest man out of me?"

Lorelai had known Sirius Black her whole life. Their parents had introduced them to each other when she was still on the teat of her wet nurse and he was breaking toy broomsticks, according to Andy – her cousin, Andromeda – _his_ cousin, Andromeda _Black_. Sirius and Lorelai were separated by several cousins and marriages, not directly related, which made their looming betrothal less disgusting than it could have been. It didn't help, however, that if she had her pick of Blacks, someone _else_ would have given her the pin she was wearing.

Lorelai's gaze lifted from a paragraph about Vanishing Spells to Sirius's teasing greys eyes. She blankly stared at him and started groaning louder. "I hate being a Gilmore."

"Oh, come now, Lorelai," he said casually, overloading her plate with eggs and bacon and muffins, before fixing his own breakfast. "It's not all bad. We get to swot our brains out for the next few years; then make our respectable pure-blood marriage; have a couple of lovely entitled brats; and master the noble art of achieving absolutely nothing. How does that sound?"

"Aside from this 'we' and 'our' business, smashing," she smiled sardonically.

"Oh, really?"

"Oh. Really."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Sirius was mixing blueberries into his porridge and Lorelai was petulantly picking at her food with her fork when Erica conspicuously coughed. "So, Sirius, where's your other half?"

"Where're your eyes, Catchlove? She's the astoundingly mature one whinging right next to me," he said affectionately, poking Lorelai with his spoon.

"She meant your _soulmate_ , Sirius," corrected Lorelai.

"Yeah," said Erica, pretending to swoon at the romanticism of it all. "Your _one true love_."

"The person you _should_ be marrying," Lorelai finished, and then savagely took a bite of her bacon.

With impeccable timing, James Potter had merrily made himself comfortable on the other side of Sirius, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew in tow. "Here I am."

"There he is!" exclaimed Lorelai. She leaned into Sirius and brightly said, " _Now_ you can _leave_."

"But I haven't finished my breakfast yet."

"Remus, be a dear and make him leave," said Lorelai, batting her eyelashes across the table.

Remus shook his head apologetically. "If only I could …"

Sirius looked between them. "Why am I getting a vague impression I'm not wanted here?"

" _Vague_ impression?" Lorelai sounded disappointed. "Not a distinct impression?"


	7. The Fifteen-Year-Old Virgin

**The Fifteen-Year-Old Virgin**

Notes: A teeny, tiny short continued from 'We and Our'.

* * *

"EMILY, OUR DAUGHTER'S LOSING HER VIRGINITY FIVE-FEET AWAY FROM THE NEW MINISTER FOR MAGIC!"

Lorelai Gilmore, torn between total embarrassment and not really giving a toss (because the British had come and damn well conquered), groped in the dim candlelight for her wand and laughed as Teddy Wiedemier snorted. "Virgin?"

She mock gasped and held the pearlescent blue dress robes that she'd just – quite lawlessly – summoned to her bare chest. "Are you questioning my father's vehement claims of my _only-just-now_ -soiled virtue?"

Teddy handed Lorelai her black lace knickers with a smirk and brought his lips right up to her ear, whispering, "Never."

"EMILY!" they could hear Richard Gilmore yelling throughout the house.


	8. A Tale of Two Rebels

**A Tale of Two Rebels**

Notes: Continued from 'The Fifteen-Year-Old Virgin'. I really had no idea that there was so much of this wasting away all by its lonesome on my computer.

* * *

Remus knew more about Lorelai Gilmore than most.

There were the widely known facts: she was the top of every class, unsurprising because, although she was a Gryffindor through and through, she was also a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw; she ate more than all the school team Beaters in the castle combined; she proudly supported the Banchory Bangers, even though her family owned the Pride of Portree Quidditch team; Regulus was her favourite Black.

And then there were the lesser known ones: she had an almost supernatural affinity for sensing snow, always correctly predicting the first snowfall of the year within the minute; she was a talented aerial equestrian, despite her catastrophic failings on a broomstick; she didn't detest her family half as much as everybody believed she did; she was arranged to marry Sirius Black the summer after they graduated from Hogwarts.

Lorelai Gilmore was a popular subject of fascination. Particularly amongst the males at Hogwarts. She was one of what they had unanimously nicknamed the Fit Four, which included Marlene McKinnon, Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald.

Lorelai was the most intimidating, on account of being a Gilmore. Pure-blood. Ancient gold. Vast influence. That was the kind of family she belonged to. She had what was probably the most "pristine" magical lineage in all of Britain. It was no wonder that Sirius's mother so badly wanted to entwine her within the House of Black's "Noble and Most Ancient" history. Even if her ancestry was deeply rooted in Ravenclaw's, rather than Slytherin's.

Sirius liked to complain about Lorelai. Apparently they had been best friends until she were six and he was seven, when they finally came to understand exactly why their parents were so supportive of their tight bond.

Age six was when she began rebelling – at the time, simply for the sake of rebellion – and then him a bit later. There was something to be said about the hard truth that maybe girls really did mature faster than boys. In a state of pixie powder-induced delirium, Sirius had once begrudgingly admitted that Lorelai was the _original rebel_.

Divided they may have decided to be, but they had always followed similar paths. They were as alike as they were different. They were both the best and worst possible people for each other to end up with. They were a matching yet complementing set. It would have been obvious to the deaf, dumb and blind that they were meant to be.

It was funny that she liked his brother so much better – because, well, in all honesty, Sirius Black and Lorelai Gilmore didn't seem to like one another at all.

Especially not now.

"Hey, Padfoot?"

Sirius acknowledged Remus with a distracted, "Mmm." He had been distracted a lot lately.

"Why is Lorelai looking at you?"

"I'm nice to look at," he answered absently.

"You have noticed I am talking about _Lorelai Gilmore_ , right? Since when does she deign to look at you when she doesn't have to? 'Sides, she's not so much looking at you as she is staring – _glaring_ , really – I think she's trying to burn you with her eyes, mate. Better watch out. She seems to dislike you more than usual today."

"Lorelai?" Sirius had finally begun paying enough attention to cotton on. He sounded alarmed. He pulled out his wand, his grey eyes flashing silver in his panic and darting to down the house table.

She was now standing, about to leave, and rolling her own eyes. She had suddenly grabbed Thomas Stebbins – an innocent bystander – by the front of his robes and pulled him in for a very thorough-looking kiss. While she snogged the brains out of Stebbins, Lorelai raised her left hand.

"Oo, there she flips!" grinned James, who had just joined them.

Peter sat down on James's other side, just arriving as well. "Up flies the mast!"

"Padfoot, what'd you to do her now?"

Sirius … Sirius actually looked somewhat sheepish … somewhere in the realm of _genuinely apologetic_. That never happened. Especially when it came to Lorelai Gilmore. They had known each other for so long, this kind of behaviour was considered an unnecessary waste of time.

"'S not the bird, Prongs. Check which finger she's waving."

Remus made his case, saying, "She's a bit far –"

"Hard to tell," Peter finished for him.

"Wait – is that …?" James trailed off.

"Yup. My life is officially over. So's hers. Our parents aren't around for her to pave hell all over, so she's taking it out on me. Mental, irrational bint."

"Yet you look sorry," said James, confused.

"Yeah … well … I am. Dunno why, but I am. Sorry. I am sorry. Merlin's balls, why the hell am I sorry?"


	9. The End of the Beginning

**The End of the Beginning**

Notes: Continued from 'A Tale of Two Rebels'.

* * *

In summary, Sirius Black was masochist. Never mind his _mummy issues_. He blamed having James Potter – and his eternal Lily lust – as a best mate.

What kind of idiot fell in love with the annoying witch that he spent a childhood bugging; the fiancé he spent his schooldays dreading to wed; the girl who his _perfect_ little brother got pregnant?

* * *

"Open!"

"Oi! Prongs! You mind letting us in sometime today! The weather's sodding miserable out here!"

"Open, open, open!"

"It's us!"

"It's me, your loveliest lovely Lorelai, and our uncanny Stubby Boardman lookalike."

"He wishes."

"You _are_ better looking, aren't you?"

"Much."

"Much more."

"Much, much more."

"Thank Merlin."

"Incomparably much more."

"I just compared him to you – so, _not_ incomparably. I'm going to go with insurmountably."

"Insurmountably? I think we both know I'm hardly insurmountable."

"Dirty!"

* * *

"We're engaged!"

"You're looking at the future Mrs Black – again."

"As if! If anything, you're looking at the future Mr Gilmore."

"What now?"

"Hey, I'm the one who did the proposing."

"I did it the first time."

"You threw the ugliest ring I'd ever seen in my life –"

"I told you a hundred times, Lorelai, _I_ didn't pick the ghastly thing out."

"– in my lap and said, 'Guess we have to get married now' – your enthusiasm for that very romantic gesture may have left something to be desired."

"Well, it's not like either of us wanted to get married back then. We didn't even really like each other back then."

"True."

"The words _putain_ and _arschloch_ were used."

"Also true."

"Many times."

"Turns out they were true. I _did_ get knocked up and you _are_ an arsehole."

"And I didn't throw the ring."

"Oh?"

"I tossed it."

"Because that's so much better."

"Sounds it."

"Oh, well, as long as it _sounds_ better, I guess that's all right."

"Good. We're in agreement."

"You don't really expect me to go by 'Mrs Black,' do you?"

"Dunno. We haven't been engaged long enough – this time round – to think on it much. Why?"

"Mrs Black is your mother."

"OK – OK, all right, then – right – no. No, you are not changing your name. I forbid it."

"You forbid it?"

"Yes. Expressly."

"I think I might just do it now out of spite – forbid me to do something, my arse!"


	10. Agent 88

**Agent 88**

 _Years have passed. S.H.I.E.L.D. has two directors who don't quite see eye-to-eye. Our sweet little Rory was raised by a different kind of village._

Notes: Set in the same universe as 'Agent 8'.

Super!Lorelais; Lorelai was born two years later, 1970, the same year as Tony; therefore, Rory was born in 1986.

* * *

"Why did you join S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place?"

"My name is Lorelai Gilmore and my dad is Tony Stark."

"OK, so, your dad's Tony Stark. Why not just work for him?"

"I don't want to make weapons."

"Yet you're at S.H.I.E.L.D. Slippery slope."

* * *

 **2006**

 **THE TRISKELION | S.H.I.E.L.D. HEADQUARTERS**

Lorelai cried, "She's not a spy, Nick!"

"Oh, really?" Fury opened the file he had brought with him. "Let's see here … top grades across the board."

"Well, that's Miss Perfect Work Ethic," she said factually.

"Combat, agility, marksmanship."

Lorelai tried to sound flippant. "So she's a soldier, at best."

" _Espionage_ , first in her class."

"She's just a kid!"

"Who breezed through our Academy of Science and Technology," he said flatly.

"What happened to 'she's too valuable to have in the field, too dangerous to keep around our hardware'?" interjected Lorelai. " _Huh_?"

Fury's tone turned to incredulity, "She got _bored_ at the Sandbox –"

"You can blame her father, for that one."

"She survived Operations. Walked away with flying colours –"

"Just because she's a good shot –"

"The _best_ shot. As good a sharpshooter as you, Lorelai. Maybe better."

"And with her _speciality_ , she'll remember the face of _every_ person she kills. I don't want that for her. She wanted to do her science thing at S.H.I.E.L.D., fine. I'd actually rather she'd chosen to blow things up with Tony as a _civilian_ , but I accepted it."

"Kicking and screaming, from what I recall."

"I am _not_ OK with sending her into the field. She's isn't made for this."

"You mean you don't _want_ her to be. She's probably the most overqualified person we've got. She's done time at all three Academies –"

"'Done time' – a little on the nose, come to think about it. All that steel and concrete. We should really get around to sprucing it up," Lorelai tried to deflect. "We could use a good spruce."

"Your daughter has been training for this since the day you brought her here."

"I didn't _bring_ my daughter here. I needed a job."

"And now she wants one, too."

"She already has a job."

"I know you're against this, Lorelai, but it isn't your decision."

"It's mine, Mom," Rory said firmly as she entered the room.

Fury smiled, smug. "Madam Director, say hello to Agent 88."

* * *

"I didn't want to make weapons and now I'm _using_ them," said Rory bitterly.

* * *

 **2008**

 **STARK MANSION | MALIBU**

"Jarvis."

 _"Welcome home, s―"_

"'I am Iron Man.' _Seriously_?" a familiar voice scoffed, its owner unseen in the dark. "You think you're the only superhero in the world? Oh, Tony … You've become part of a bigger universe and you just don't even know it."

Nonplussed, Tony blinked as a familiar face came into view. "Lor?"

"It's Madam Director now, actually."

"Director of what?"

"Director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Huh."

"I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative."

* * *

"I avoided working for Dad because I didn't want to make weapons. Only now …" Rory sighed deeply. "Only now, he's out of the weapons game and I'm the one with blood on my hands."

* * *

 **2011**

 **S.H.I.E.L.D. HEADQUARTERS | NEW YORK CITY**

"How's our best girl doing?" asked Trip after Agent 13 hung up.

Agent 13 put her hands on her hips. "Should I be offended? I feel like I should be offended."

"All right," he grinned, "how is _my_ best girl doing?"

She smirked. "Wrapping things up. Ready for extraction."

"How broken is the poor guy's heart this time?"

"Hey, Dugray!" she called across the room. "You can add another proposal to the tally!"

Thompson Dugray shook his head, added a mark on the board and joined them.

"Damn," said Trip.

"You know the company line," said Thom. "You want someone to be seduced, you send Romanoff. You need a target to fall in love, you send 88."

"Well, you two would know," laughed Agent 13.

Trip crossed his arms. "I only have experience with the latter, thank you very much.

Thom shrugged, feigning poorly executed nonchalance.

"In your dreams, Dugray."

* * *

"Rifles are her specialty."

"Gilmore's gotta be one of the best marksmen in the world."

"Not that the world knows about that."

"Probably _the_ best. If you don't believe the _ghost stories_."

"She's great with knives."

"Packs a hell of a punch, too."

"Chip off the old 8 block."

* * *

 **2012**

 **S.H.I.E.L.D. HEADQUARTERS | NEW YORK CITY**

Steve felt … groggy. Sluggish, even. He hadn't felt nearly so weak since he was a ninety-pound asthmatic. He could breathe, though, and breathe _well_. His lungs were still as strong as they had been since the serum, thankfully, so there was at least that.

" _… our Commander-in-Chief, President Harry S. Truman, on the Manhattan Project …_ "

He could hear perfectly fine, too. His hearing remained excellent – both ears were fully functioning. He heard angry metropolitan traffic impatiently announcing itself outside, Kay Kyser softly crooning on a turntable, and a welcome voice to his immediate right.

" _…Hiroshima, and then Nagasaki …_ "

A feminine, vaguely familiar voice. It sounded almost like … _Rebecca Barnes_.

" _… according to Howard Stark …_ "

 _Oh, God_ , thought Steve. _Bucky's sister_. What was he going to say to –

"Becca?" asked Steve, sitting up quickly.

His eyes landed on … _not_ Rebecca.

A young woman sat comfortably on a simple white chair, carefully folding the yellowing newspaper she'd been reading from. Judging from her attire, she could have been an off-duty army nurse, in her white blouse and dark olive skirt. It looked a little strange, though. Not _quite_ right. Something about the way her clothes sat on her delicate frame was not quite _right_. In fact, just about everything in this room seemed _not_ quite right.

"Captain," she smiled kindly.

Steve blinked. He _knew_ that smile. But it was on the _wrong_ face.

She laid the old newspaper at the foot of his bed and said, "You're awake," apparently relieved. "Good morning." She checked her silver watch. "Or should I say, _afternoon_?"

Steve squinted to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. It wasn't like he was colour-blind again, but … He made a fist, flexing the muscles up one arm to check if the super-soldier serum had worn off or something. _Nope_ , he found out. He was perfectly fine – yet, he was seeing things. He was hearing things. He was seeing and hearing things that were _not quite right_ : a beautiful dame that sounded eerily like Bucky's eldest sister Rebecca, and looked an awful lot like Bucky's middle sister Abigail, but had the exact same smile as Bucky's youngest sister Virginia. Her _eyes_ , though. He had never seen eyes like hers before. Big. Bright. Blue. _Vividly_ blue. Like the _cube_.

The _cube_! The _Valkyrie_! He had crashed that flying monstrosity into the ice.

"How …?"

He wasn't dead. He _should_ have been dead.

"I don't understand," said Steve cautiously. He slowly got off the bed and backed away from her. He needed to distance himself from this woman who was familiarity and wrongness in one. "What's going on?"

"You've been asleep, Captain Rogers."

"I gathered," he said, gesturing to the single bed he had woken up in. He picked up the newspaper that she had been reciting to him while he woke. He skimmed the headlines and checked the date. It was August – apparently, he had been sleeping for four months. "It's over? We won?"

She sombrely eyed the grainy black-and-white photo of the mushroom cloud accompanying the news article, seriousness shading her otherwise fair china doll face. "Something like that."

That sounded about right, Steve thought sadly. It was war.


	11. My Dear Bluestocking

**My Dear Bluestocking**

Pairings: Rory Gilmore/Sirius Black (So try not to think too hard about my previous dips in the MWPP pool.)

Notes: Condensed time, a faster pace, younger ages compared to _Gilmore Girls_. Also, Rory's squeamish scale has been (reasonably) re-calibrated for the wizarding world.

* * *

"Oh – _geez_!"

"Padfoot …"

The door yanked wide open, Sirius Black had been caught in _another_ broom cupboard with a _new_ girl yet _again_.

"Wow. _Now_ I can truly say it feels like I never left."

Caprice Hornby may have squealed upon the sudden intrusion; she may have flamed a deep red; and she may have hastily scrambled to cover her half-dressed self, but she was smirking. The students at Hogwarts tended to be incapable of hiding their brimming self-satisfaction at bagging a Black – this Black, especially, was in the highest of vogue now that his famously beautiful cousins were all gone – even if it was only for an hour or two.

"Oh, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, how I've missed you," sang Rory Gilmore (rather poorly – unlike her mum and very much like her dad, she didn't have the best voice).

Remus Lupin looked mildly abashed. "I'm sorry about this."

"You don't need to apologise for him," she said evenly, averting her bugged eyes from that evening's indecent display. "It's your nymphomaniac friend who should be doing that."

"Nymphos refer to females, my dear Bluestocking," grinned Sirius, slowly taking the time to adjust his robes.

"Sorry, satyriasis," Rory apologised sardonically. "My mistake. It's just – your hair – you've grown it out since I last saw you – hard to tell these days." She had spent the first half of sixth year on exchange at Castelobruxo.

He tossed his dark hair, shiny as ever, in a carelessly elegant fashion. "You like it?"

"I don't know." She squinted, pretending to seriously contemplate the matter, then wrinkled her nose. "You look a fair bit like Stubby Boardman."

"WHAT!"

Evidently, this was the wrong thing to say.

"Oh dear," sighed Remus.

Sirius was madly shaking his head. "Sod that flaming ponce!"

"Not this again."

"HE looks like ME –"

"Padfoot –"

"NOT the other way around!"

Remus had given up on his friend and turned to Rory. "Sorry about him – again."

"You should really find a way to fix that reflex, Remus," she smiled kindly. "I promise, it's completely unnecessary."

"Still, I should've warned you. He's been like this since August. People keep commenting on the likeness, and you know Sirius. He has to be an original. He hates the comparison."

"Clearly," said Rory, amused, watching Black's ceaseless rant about the lead singer of the Hobgoblins.

"– _Witch Weekly_! I mean, why the bloody hell do _they_ care?" continued Sirius, ignoring the all but forgotten Ravenclaw girl whining for attention at his side.

"Maybe because of your family and you running away from them and them publically disowning you," Remus calmly said to him. "It was probably just included as funny afterthought to add colour to the article."

" _Witch Weekly_? Article?" stated Rory, inquisitive. "Hmph, I must've missed that one."

"Your mum read it aloud at the start of every lesson last term," he answered her briskly.

"Sad I missed that," she sounded put out.

* * *

James Potter was inclined to act foolishly whenever Lily Evans was around. He became an absolute idiot when a third party – to be precise, a _male_ third party – was added to the Evans equation. So, naturally, his best friend found himself lost for an explanation when the Head Boy approached their house table. The seventh-year Hufflepuff had the audacity to sit down beside Evans, and James failed to react. Most unexpected.

"Um, mate, you feeling all right there?" Sirius smirked and pressed a hand to James's forehead.

James stared at him like he was the one who was off colour. "Eh?"

"Evans." He jerked his head to where the fifth-year Gryffindor girls were all seated. "This year's Head Berk has invaded your territory, yet you seem completely unaffected by it. Forgive me for questioning your good health."

"What?" James followed Sirius's gaze and caught on. "Oh." He shrugged. He had known about that inconsequential titbit since its conception in August. "That's nothing to worry about. Bloke's not interested in Evans. He's going out with Rory."

Something in Sirius Black's customary countenance of affected boredom wavered for the thinnest split second, before incredulity and an _almost_ forced amusement took over. "Huh."

Peter Pettigrew was gaping. "Really?"

Gilmore had never given any indication that she cared about boys. Or dating. Or boys _and_ dating.

Remus Lupin had closed the book he was reading and set it aside but didn't have a word to add.

"Nothing to say, Moony?" asked Sirius.

"It's not news to me," he said, mildly entertained that Sirius was showing interest in the matter. "They were holding hands on the train."

"And when exactly did you happen to chance upon witnessing this?"

"Prefect carriage."

"Right." Sirius nodded succinctly. "Right."

Remus and Rory Gilmore had been the two Gryffindors to receive badges with their school equipment lists that summer. Oh, the shame. One of his best mates: a _prefect_. An embarrassment, that was.

Amos Diggory had been a prefect as well. Many house points had been docked and detentions doled out to Sirius and James because of him. Sodding git.

As a single entity, the four boys' heads had swivelled to observe the girls again. They were avidly talking about whatever it was girls talked about like normal, only with the new addition of a brainless pretty-boy chatting away with them; and tossing a shiny red apple between his hands without looking, like that was supposed to be impressive.

Diggory. Conventionally handsome, obnoxiously wholesome Diggory was dating the Ingénue of Gryffindor Tower. How so very fitting, Sirius scoffed at the thought.

"Anything else to add, Padfoot?" grinned James. He, too, appeared to be interested in Sirius's unusual interest.

"Nope. Not at all," he said easily. "Pass the pumpkin juice, will you?"

Sirius wasn't James. He didn't flip out over birds.

Still, his nonchalance deceived nobody.


End file.
